


Shame

by CryloRen_IsAtItAgain



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Father/Son Incest, Han POV, It's only non-con because Ben is underage and also just rescued from child sex slavery, M/M, Sex Slavery, Stripping, Suicidal Thoughts, Teenage!Ben, blind!ben, body jewelry, canonverse, mentions of child sex slavery, the falcon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 08:58:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15239910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CryloRen_IsAtItAgain/pseuds/CryloRen_IsAtItAgain
Summary: Ben Solo went missing six years ago. Stolen from his bed in the Jedi Temple, his parents have always assumed the worst. When Han ventures into a seedy cantina, he doesn't expect to find his son a prominent dancer on the stage. Getting him back is the easy part. Dealing with the feelings warring inside of him is harder.





	Shame

The cantina smelled of cheap liquor and nicotine. The smoke that curled from the end of deathsticks held in assorted hands filled the space, giving everything a foggy appearance. Han was more than used to such a smell, of sweat, of sex, of illegal spice. At least this place didn’t reak of a Hutt’s pleasure palace. 

 

Taking a seat on the barstool, Han looked about the place for a moment, then lifted a hand to order a dry bourbon, leaning his elbow on the counter. Chewie was still up in orbit, looking over their large freighters engines, and Han had taken one of their small transports down to the planet to oversee a deal. He knew it was going to give them enough credits to make it back to the Core. To see Leia. After everything, it’d been much too long. Han needed to get back. 

 

With one hand loose, ready to twitch to his blaster if need be, Han peered around the seedy joint, eyes on the lookout for Joon Bidish. The sleezy man ran this establishment, had smugglers bring him spice from Kessel, and he drained the pockets of idiot businessmen who came in for his rigged gambling matches. But what he was really famous for was his boys. 

 

Bidish’s boys were the most well-known prostitutes in the Outer Rim. Submissive little things, he got them young and trained them well. Men flocked from every planet in the Galaxy to get a taste of his stock. Han usually didn’t deal with human traffickers, but it was hard to resist the offer that had been made. Fifty-thousand credits for a short smuggling run down to Kessel and back. He could hardly pass that up. Even if he’d be lining the pockets of one of the worst scumbags to ever walk the Galaxy. 

 

As if summoned from the smoke, Bidish slid onto the barstool beside him, and Han merely tilted his head slightly in recognition. He brought the glass to his lips to take a sip of liquor, casual, cool, calm. His eyes scanned the room, noting the armed guards here and there. Most of them weren’t being subtle in their status at all, blasters on full display for the room to see. Must keep it from getting too rowdy. With the idiots losing their life savings in the back, it was probably for the best to show a bit of muscle. 

 

“Han Solo, never thought I’d see you around these parts again,” Bidish said, and his cheeks puffed out for a moment. “It’s an honor to hire someone with your reputation to run some spice for me.” The way he spoke of illicit activities so openly showed just how lost this world was, from either the control of the New Republic or even their own law enforcement. Han honestly wondered if they even had a law enforcement office on the planet. It had been far, far too easy to come in for a landing. 

 

“If you want me to return the sentiment, then I think you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” Han said, grinning fakely, baring his teeth as he did so. He didn’t have Chewie as his muscle today, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to puff up with all the usual bravado. “Just give me your manifest so I can get out of here, get back. I’ve got other, more pleasant, places to be.” 

 

Clicking his tongue, Bidish shook his head, and Han watched his ponytail flop over onto his shoulder with the movement. His hair was a stark blond that stood out from the dingy surroundings. “Patience,” he said, then motioned to the bartender for another drink. Something in a tall glass that glowed an unsightly green was slid to him, and he sipped it up through a straw. Han watched him with barely disguised disdain. “We need to talk terms.” 

 

“We already did,” Han said. “I’m not doing it for less.” 

 

“Well, about that. I’ve hit a slight bump with my assets, and I...well, I thought I could offer you something else. Something, more material than money.” 

 

“No,” he said, then put his glass down. Han stood, and fixed his jacket. Whatever Bidish had to offer, he wasn’t interested. He ignored the half-hearted call for him to come back, starting on his way out. 

 

The lights shifted overhead, dimming, and Han looked up for a moment. Eventually, the glow of stage lights drew his attention across the bar and to the stage across the way. He should’ve just kept walking, uninterested in whatever poor kid was gonna have to dance for these sleazy men tonight. The silhouette of a boy appeared from behind a curtain, the lights from behind him making him just a shape that drifted through the smoke and the steam off the lights. Han watched until he walked into the light, his tall, lithe form moving like a Loth-cat. 

 

Slender hips began to move, and Han’s eyes were fixed there for a short moment. He was barely dressed, a shroud of red fabric wrapped around him and hiding his genitalia. Golden adornments hung around his chest, and Han really did wonder how long it’d been since he’d had a full meal. Han finally took in that face, and he reached back to grab the bar before he could fall over. Plush lips pressed together in a pout, a bold nose, black curls that grazed his shoulders. His eyes were shut, but Han knew if they were open, he’d see a very familiar honeyed brown. 

 

Bidish slapped him on the back, and Han startled from his hypnosis and turned toward the man. Something inside him was fuming. “I can see you do like something I have to offer,” he bragged, and Han could have strangled him. But he kept his hands loose by his sides, fingers twitching a bit. 

 

“Give him to me, and I’ll get your spice to you,” he said, frowning deep. The boy, that beautiful boy, his son. It’d been six years. His son. He’d thought he was dead. Han struggled to keep his emotions in check.

 

“Give him to you? Permanently? I could go for one night, maybe a week. Oh, but he’s such a popular little thing, Just look at how he moves.” 

 

Han swallowed, his eyes drawn back to the stage. The young prostitute, Ben, his son, was now circling around a pole that rose up from the ground in the middle of the stage. His hand wrapped around the metal, and Han watched him leap into action, leg wrapping around the pole as he spun around it, back arching as he leaned off, free arm scraping the ground. He shifted positions, curling his body up and holding onto the pole with both arms, left leg still wrapped tightly around it, and he extended the other out. Carefully, he removed a hand from the pole and reached down to adjust the red fabric up, and Han turned away swiftly as the drunken spectators cheered. 

 

“I can see just how popular he is. But I wonder how many people are going to frequent your establishment without a nice, steady spice supply running through here. If you’re contacting someone like me, must be desperate to get the job done, right?” Han had to play this cool, he had to. He couldn’t risk coming off as too desperate, even as his heart beat hard against his ribcage. 

 

Bidish’s face turned a bit colder, and Han knew he’d struck a nerve. It was easy to sell the prostitutes when the men who frequented here were doped up. He knew that he’d still have a customer base if he lost the addicts, but the cash flow would be significantly depleted. Spice was a big seller pretty much everywhere, and everyone wanted a taste of the pie. If Han could play into that, he was going to walk out of here with the boy. If not… His fingers twitched again, and he felt the cool metal of his blaster, ready to be used if need be. 

 

“Fine,” he said, then motioned to one of his guards. Han watched as he turned away to whisper something to him, and the beefy gentlemen walked away, assumedly going through the door to backstage. Han merely let his lips twitch up slightly, and he held out a hand. 

 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said. 

 

Bidish sneered, then grabbed his hand and shook. “And you, Han Solo.” 

 

The entire thing sat bitter on his tongue, and Han turned away from the stage, from the pulsating music, from the shimmying hips, and he grabbed up his drink again and downed it all. He threw a few credits on the bar to pay, then he went to wait by the exit. Every now and again, he’d look up to see what was happening, what Ben was doing, and he got a few flashes of something he didn’t necessarily want to see. His mouth got dry when he did the splits, and Han turned and stuck his head outside for some fresh air. He shouldn’t be watching this. 

 

Eventually, the boy left the stage, and another replaced him. Han watched this performance, sick to his stomach, thankful that the other hadn’t been necessarily so crude in his movements. The Twi-Lek boy now occupying the stage was older, but he seemed to garner just as much approval from the crowd. Especially when he crawled to the edge of the stage and pulled off the covering over his erection. Han really did leave then, going outside and waiting by the doors. The stench of the place clung to him. 

 

There was a heavy stone sitting in his stomach. He knew what Bidish’s boys went through. What kind of training they endured. He’d always thought it fit to just bomb the place to hell. If a few boys died in the attack, then it’d essentially be a mercy killing. Beaten until they complied, held down and raped repeatedly until they grew too demoralized to resist, and worst of all, blinded to ensure they could never fight back. He wondered if those beautiful eyes would be milky and faded, or if they’d be bleached white by the acid poured on them. He didn’t know. Never had been close enough to tell. 

 

The clinking of a chain alerted him to an approach before the footsteps did, and he watched as the muscle from earlier walked the kid around the building, guiding him on a long chain and hung from a collar on his neck. His body still bore the golden body jewelry, and upon color inspection, Han saw there was a naval piercing that glimmered in the bluish lighting from the flashing sign overhead. He’d put back on that red clock covering, and Han really was grateful for that, especially since it covered all the important bits. 

 

He reached out, taking hold of the chain, and the guard walked off without saying another word. Han gruffly cleared his throat, wanting to say something comforting, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he just placed a hand on Ben’s arm and began to lead him away. He thought of all the things he should say to him, what the right thing to even say was, but Han kept drawing a blank. 

 

A shudder passed through Ben’s body, and Han stopped for a moment. “Oh,” he muttered, realizing the planet wasn’t exactly warm. Temperatures plummeted without the sun. He threw off his jacket, then tossed it around Ben’s shoulders, gently wrapped him up in it. His mouth moved. He wanted to say something. But Han just shook his head and let out a pathetic sigh. He didn’t know what to say. How to say it. Ben’s eyes were still closed, and his face in the moonlight was bleached out but peaceful. How could he be so peaceful after what he’d clearly gone through. 

 

Han kept walking, guiding him carefully down to the attached docking platforms. His old ship, the Falcon, sat in one of the loading areas, and he hurriedly walked up inside. Ben knew this ship, Han knew this ship. He used to let his kid stand on his legs and steer her when they flew. Gave his mother the fright of her life first time she’d walked in on it. 

 

Ben stood there while he closed the ramp, and Han kept glancing over at him. “Come on,” he whispered, then pressed a hand to his back. Ben was almost too easy to guide through the ship, and he took him back to the old bunkroom in the back. The bunkroom he’d been conceived in, the one Han had tucked him into every night when they traveled, where he’d once decorated the wall with drawings. Han had taken them all down after he’d gone missing, too hurt to keep them up. He shifted and gently guided Ben down onto the bunk, knowing that he couldn’t see. 

 

He walked away, digging around in his stuff until he found a ration bar. It was the only kind of food he had, and Han really did figure that Ben would be absolutely starving. But when he turned back around, the bar dropped from his hand, and he gulped. Ben had thrown off the jacket, thrown off the fabric covering himself, and now he sat on the bunk with his legs up and spread, a finger slid down to play with his - no. 

 

Han turned away, refusing to look. He walked closer, picking up the jacket again, and he tossed it over the boy. “No,” he said, then looked again. Ben’s head was facing forward, and he kept titling in the direction of his voice, as if looking for him. A short moment passed where his face scrunched up, clearly thinking about something, but it smoothed out again. “Your name is Ben, right? They didn’t change it?” 

 

A head nod, and Han sighed in relief. That was one battle he wasn’t going to have to fight. He lowered himself to sit on the bunk, gently moving Ben’s legs back down, and he wrapped the leather jacket up around him, then smoothed a hand through his hair. Sweeping it behind his ear, he noticed the silvery stones pierced through his lobes, and Han felt his stomach twist up in knots again. They’d turned his son into little more than a piece of direction to put a cock in. He hated it. That perfect face turned up toward him, and Han opened his mouth for a moment. “You know me?” he asked. 

 

And his heart sunk when Ben shook his head. Han tilted his head down, leaning his head against Ben’s forehead. In the way he used to do when he was young. He’d cup his cheeks so gentle, worried about his rough hands hurting that beautiful skin, and he’d smile and laugh and kiss the tip of his nose. “I’m your-” he started, then stopped when soft lips pressed against his. 

 

It was so sudden, and he didn’t know how to react, Ben’s plush mouth on his, moving against his. He tried not to think of where he’d gotten the experience from, especially when the lips shifted down to his jawline. Han grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back, then he rubbed a hand over his stubbly chin and scraped his palm along his cheek, watching as Ben settled back into a more neutral pose. “We can’t be doing that,” he said, and he wondered why his reaction had been so subdued. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, and Han nearly sighed in relief to know that he could talk. He knew that the boys were blinded upon the end of their training, and he’d never heard of one having their tongues cut out, but he wouldn’t put the cruelty past Bidish and his men. 

 

“No, it’s...that’s just not why you’re here.” He saw the confusion on Ben’s face, and he leaned in to gently cup his cheek. “I’m your father, baby. Do you remember me?” 

 

Ben’s eyebrows drew together, and he knew that he was thinking hard. Han continued, expanding. 

 

“You used to train with your uncle at the Jedi Academy. You were really good at it, he tells me. But then, you went missing. No one knew where you went. But we found out your ship had crashed. Everyone thought - we just assumed - “ He couldn’t finish the statement. And Ben didn’t seem to be getting it. And this his face suddenly evened out again, and Han sighed in relief. 

 

“I see,” Ben said, then shifted so that he could draw his knees up under him. “I’m your missing son Ben. That’s why you want me.” Han started to nod, forgetting that Ben couldn’t see him. Before he could speak, Ben continued, “I can do that, sir.” And he pushed the jacket off himself again, biting at the end of one finger. 

 

Han shook his head. “Ben, I don’t want that.” He reached down to get the jacket, but when he sat up again, there were tears in his eyes. “No, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” 

 

“I don’t please you?” he asked, and then there was a strike of fear, quick as a lightning strike. Han reached out, taking that smooth, perfect face in his eyes. Six years. Six years since he’d gotten to touch his son like this, and he was crying over not being fucked. It was heart wrenching. Ben relaxed into his hands, and Han leaned forward and pressed his rough lips to the boy’s forehead. 

 

“You’re my son. My real son. I don’t want to use you like those men do. That’s not going to happen anymore. You’re mine. Mine. You’re never going back.” 

 

Ben’s eyes slowly, slowly cracked open, and Han leaned back to see. They were faded, but not milky, and he could still see that beautiful brown with golden accents. He was perfect. Those lips were pouting again, and Han just wanted to wipe that expression away, see a real smile. That’s all he wanted. 

 

“Maker, you’re beautiful,” he said, without thinking, and Ben’s lips twitched a little. He opened his mouth, and Han gently pressed his thumb against his lower lip, still cupping his face. “No, you don’t need to talk, okay? Just…” He watched as Ben’s tongue unfurled from his mouth, trailing off as he felt the warm, wet press against the pad of his thumb. Then, the whole digit was sucked into that mouth, and his eyes widened. “Ben, my hands are dirty,” he said, instead of what he should have say. Not stop, not this isn’t right. “My hands are dirty.” Ben didn’t stop. 

 

Ben’s lips pursed around the base of his thumb, and Han watched as he sucked on it, then slowly pulled off. His eyes blinked, then shut again, and Han wondered if it was easier to keep them that way, if it hurt to keep them open. He hoped not. He loved them so much. They had always been so expressive. He wasn’t thinking clearly, and Ben’s thin fingers took hold of his hand, and before he could stop him, Ben was gently sucking his index and middle finger into his mouth. He was beautiful, bobbing his head on his fingers, and Han felt a stirring in his gut. “I can’t fuck you,” he whispered, because he knew that’s what Ben was expecting. “I won’t fuck you. You’re my son.” 

 

He pulled off his fingers. “No one has to know.” It seemed that he was taught to seduce, to play whatever roll he was given. The son that wanted to fuck their father. Disgusting. He wondered if anyone had played this particular game with him before. Han had to stop this now before it escalated. 

 

“Okay, I’m going to, get you something to eat. Something real. I’m sure there’s somewhere on this blasted rock that sells acceptable food.” He stood up, then swiped his fingers over his pants to wipe away the spit. Ben’s fingers were sneaky, and he found them wrapped around his belt buckle. For a blind kid, he sure did find things easy. “Stop,” he told him, pulling his hands away. “I really am going to get you food. You stay on the ship, hear me?” 

 

Ben nodded, his wrists limp in Han’s hold. His head tilted up, hair falling softly around him, and Han had to work harder than he should have to keep his eyes from drifting lower. As he pulled away from the bunk, releasing Ben’s wrist, the boy crawled down into the floor and hugged onto his leg. “Please don’t leave me, Daddy,” he said, and the way his voice cracked on the last word was enough for Han to freeze in his tracks, unable to go anywhere. It was fake, Ben didn’t remember him, but it felt intimately real. 

 

“Okay, okay. I won’t. We’ll go up to my freighter in orbit. It’s a really big ship. You’ll get to see Chewie. You remember Uncle Chewie?” Desperate to change the subject and get Ben off the floor. Because, damn, did he ever look good with that sinful pout and his cheek pressed against Han’s hip. He sighed, then ran his fingers through the soft curls atop his head. 

 

“I don’t remember him. He’ll have to work to remind me who he is.” Ben moved, and Han nearly fell when he situated himself directly in front of him. Those hands were on his belt again, undoing it, and Han gripped into Ben’s hair and pulled his head back. Ben leaned into it, opening his eyes again, though they couldn’t focus on him. Han felt his willpower breaking.

 

“They did so many awful things to you in there. I don’t want to be like those men.” High off spice, smoking a deathstick, putting their cocks in helpless boys. Ben wasn’t more than sixteen now. Six years since he’d disappeared, a runaway ten year old. Han was starting to wonder if he’d ever actually run away. That’s what people thought. Unhappy little boy, but he hadn’t been unhappy. Han didn’t think. 

 

“You could never be like them, Daddy.” Han released his hair, and Ben went back to what he was doing before. Rubbing his face in Han’s crotch, undoing his belt, unzipping his pants. He should stop him. He should make him stop, just get out of here, until Ben could remember him. He should scream, shake him if he had to, make him remember who he really was. 

 

Those plush lips opened, the head of his cock slipped between them. Han couldn’t watch. As a velvety mouth enveloped his entire length, he just stared at the wall and tried not to cry. It felt so good. Ben’s mouth was heaven, his tongue worked magic. He knew exactly what he was doing. Slurping sounds filled up the small bunkroom, and Han covered his mouth with his hand and blinked his eyes a few times hard. Finally, he looked down. 

 

Pink, rose petal lips stretched around his significant girth, those gorgeous eyes partially open and shifted in his general direction, Ben was a sight only for him. He didn’t think of all the other men who had forced him to his knees and done this. It was only him, them. Together. Han let his hands slide into that thick mane of hair, and he began to move his hips. Every time his cock slid into the back of his throat, Ben gurgled. Saliva dripped from his mouth, down onto his chest. 

 

Han pulled out, stepping away so he could see. Swollen red, his lips formed a pout, a string of spit dribbling from his bottom lip and onto his chest. “Do you like that?” he found himself asking, and Ben nodded at him, then smiled. It was everything Han had wanted from the beginning, since he’d seen him up on that stage. To see a smile. Right now, with his blood pumping hard in his eardrums, Han didn’t care that it was most certainly fake. 

 

“Will you get up on the bed for me, Benny?” An old nickname, and Ben responded to it. He saw something flicker over his face, but it was gone in an instant. If Han weren’t so adept at reading people, he’d have probably missed it. Ben did what he asked, crawling up onto the bunk, and Han walked closer to him. 

 

He gently pried his legs open, looking him over slowly. The jewelry at his naval glimmered once more, and Han couldn’t help but bending to kiss his stomach, around the glittering gems. Ben’s abdomen wasn’t toned like his own, nor was it soft from being well-fed and lazy. Like it should have been. Instead, it was a mix of the two, soft in all the wrong places, but his ribs still pressed against his skin from the inside. Han traced over them, thinking on how every piece of him was from Han. This was his son. His son, and people had touched him, fucked him, used him. 

 

“No one is ever touching you again,” he promised, then gently tapped his fingers against Ben’s lips. “I don’t have lube. I hate to make you do it again, but will you?” He opened up so easily, and Han slid two fingers home. Crawling on the bunk between his legs, Han let out a soft moan as Ben’s warm tongue wrapped around his fingers, wetting them with his saliva. Han spat on his own hand, then reached down to take Ben’s soft cock in hand. He began to pump it, twisting at the head, swiping his thumb over the slit. He played with it, trying to get a reaction of of the boy. 

 

Han wondered, in the back of his mind, how many men had made Ben come. If any. His cock didn’t really respond, but Han was a patient man. Or, he would be now, at least. Playing the long con had always been a strategy he avoided. Anything that took too long lost its value. He could do quicker, more dangerous jobs for more money. That’s what he preferred. But here, this is where he had to go slow. This was time to savor. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, taking his fingers from that plump mouth. “I should have came and found you.” He moved them down, swiping them over his hole a few times, spreading the saliva, using it as lube. He hoped this wouldn’t hurt too bad. “This should have never happened to you. Ben...my Ben.” He pushed a finger in, earning a soft gasp, and he saw the contortion of discomfort across his face. Han moved his hand away, then shifted down and pressed kisses from his naval, over the string of jewels, then further down. Ben was hairless down here, clean shaven. He was beautiful in absolutely every way. 

 

Han’s tongue began circling the head of his cock, his finger probing deeper, moving in and out slowly. He heard another short gasp, encouraging him, and he took the cock into his mouth. Working a soft cock like this was odd. It felt different against his tongue. But he kept going, until, finally, he got a twitch. A reaction. So small, but it meant everything to him. He was making his son feel good. Han swiped his tongue across the slit again, then went down all the way. 

 

As the cock in his mouth slowly filled out, Han slipped his second digit in, humming around Ben’s cock to distract him from the stretch. Muscles clenched and dragged, as if trying to pull his fingers in deeper. After some thought, he curled them both up and tries to smirk around the cock when Ben’s body jumps in pleasure. The head of his cock drooled a bit of salty precum onto his tongue, and Han groaned at the taste before pulling off of him. Ben was ready, he decided, dragging his fingers out slowly. 

 

Looking over the boy, Han gently reached around him and found the clasp for the body jewelry that decorated his chest, and he pulled it off. Then, he gently removed the naval piercing as well. Tossing the gaudy stuff to the ground, Han made a face. His son wasn’t an ornament. He might put it back in later, but for now, he wanted him and only him. Truly and completely, none of the false glitz and glam. Ben was his son, and he would have him just like that. Han gently gripped his hips, readjusting him on the bunk, then he gripped his cock with one hand and slowly guided it into the boy’s hole.

 

He’s tight, but not too tight. Han pushed in further, groaning as those same muscles clenched even firmer around him. If his mouth had been heaven, Han didn’t even know how to describe this. To describe it would be pointless. To enjoy it, to stay in the moment, that’s what Han decided to do. Soon, he found himself buried balls deep, and he leaned over Ben as he started moving. “So beautiful,” he whispered, stroking his face. “I remember how beautiful you used to be. Nothing compared to now.” 

 

He pressed their foreheads together again, then gently kissed the boy. Ben kept making soft mewels of pleasure, and Han worked to keep those sounds coming, aiming his cock to hit into that sweet spot every time. Softly, he moved his lips to the boy’s neck and kissed. He couldn’t imagine being rough with him. To bite or suck a hickey mark. It’s what he would do to nearly anyone else. But Ben’s skin was too fair, too perfect. Han couldn’t bring himself to ruin that. 

 

Moaning, he clenched his teeth together and leaned away, his stamina not being what it once was. But he needed to keep this going, for as long as he could. “Ben, baby, do you remember how I used to let you fly the Falcon?” he asked, peering down into that perfect face. He pistoned his hips into him. Ben’s ass was warm, soft, and tight. He was perfect. “Do you remember when I taught you how to shoot? I held you around the middle and supported your arm, in case the kickback was too much.” 

 

Ben’s useless eyes slowly opened, and he almost seemed to look right at him for a moment. But Han remembered that he was hovering over him. There was nowhere else for his son to look. Han gasped, his body shuddering, and he clenched his teeth to hold off. Reaching between them, he took Ben’s cock in hand and began to slowly pump again, working him toward a climax as well. 

 

“Do you remember when I used to balance you on my shoulders so that you could look at the stars?” he asked, desperate now. And, he saw that same flicker across his face again, remembering something. He was remembering something. 

 

“I used to try and catch shooting stars,” he said, and Han nearly sobbed in relief. “We went out on a beach, and you put me on your shoulders so I could catch the shooting stars.” 

 

“Yes! Yes, that’s it, Ben!” Their first home together, on Chandrila. With Leia always working, and Han having nothing to do but raise his boy, he’d always found creative ways to entertain him. The beaches outside their home were safe, the sand had been soft. And maybe Ben had gotten a little messy, crawling around in it, but he’d always enjoyed himself. That’s all Han had ever wanted. Ben, happy, content, safe. He’d failed him. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Ben. I’m so sorry that I messed up so badly,” he said, and he felt Ben’s cock twitch, then a few squirts of hot liquid shooting over his hand. He emptied his own load deep into Ben’s ass, rolling his hips a few times as he finished off. Ben’s tight hole milked him for all he had, and Han pulled out a moment later, satisfied. He saw Ben wince as his hole clenched around nothing, and Han gently kissed away the discomfort, waiting until Ben’s lips reciprocated. They were so soft, so precious, and Han sobbed as he kissed him deeper. He wanted to make up for everything he had done. 

 

Ben’s eyes slowly slipped closed again, and he laid his head back against the pillow. “I love you, Daddy,” he said, and Han stared for a moment, uncertain if this was part of the seduction. Then, he saw his face crumple a bit. Ben turned onto his side, crawling closer to the wall. “I love you so much, Dad.” Han slid behind him, hugging onto him, kissing his hair and the back of his neck. There was a sheen of sweat over them both, but Ben didn’t complain and neither did Han. He hugged his son around the waist, waited until he felt Ben’s fingers link with his own. Han stayed there, listening to Ben crying softly, and he kissed at him again and again. 

 

“It’ll be okay, Ben. I love you, too. So much.” As the shroud of arousal fell away, Han began to register what he’d done. What they’d done. He had Ben’s drying cum on his hand. He had his son’s cum on his hand. Han sobbed again, then bit his lip to hold it in. Ben’s cries were quieting, and after a moment, Han looked over and saw a peaceful, sleeping face. He must have been exhausted. 

 

Moving away, Han smoothed his clean hand back through his hair and got off the bunk. He quickly tucked his messy cock back in his pants and zipped up, redoing his belt. Dried cum had dripped from Ben’s hole and was now smeared across his ass cheek. Han cried when he saw it. Saw what he had done. 

 

Moving out of the bunkroom, he hurried down to the ‘fresher and wetted a towel under the sink. The Falcon hadn’t run hot water in years, so all he could get was cold. And he cleaned himself off some, wiping his tears, then he carried a hand towel back to try and clean Ben up. He wiped his ass, then between his legs, this thighs, his cock. He cleaned away the sweat on his chest, careful not to wake the boy up. Sixteen and perfect, such a beautiful face, and Han kissed his soft cheeks a few times in apology. His tears dripped down, sitting like diamonds in his black hair. 

 

Once done, Han sat on the floor of the bunkroom, holding his head in his hands, and he cried. He tried hard to keep quiet so he wouldn’t disturb the angel sleeping a few feet away. Something told him he should head to the cockpit and leave his son in peace. He’d hate him after this, Absolutely hate him. Han hated himself. He was a disgusting piece of scum that had fucked his son. A son that he’d just supposedly rescued from sex slavery. Bile rose in the back of his throat. His blaster still sat at his hip. Han lifted it out of its holster, running his fingers over the smooth metal, and he slowly opened his mouth to slide the barrel inside. 

 

“Dad?” He ripped the blaster away and tossed it, then looked over to the bunk. Ben had sat up. His nap only about half an hour long at this point, and Han slowly shifted up. His bones creaked. There was a stiffness building up in his back. He hadn’t had sex in a long time. 

 

“Yes, baby?” he asked, sitting down beside Ben’s legs. He didn’t touch him. Han didn’t think he deserved to touch him. Ben’s head swiveled toward him, tracking the sound he made, then his hands reached up toward him. Han leaned a bit, and he founds fingers on his face, tracing his features. Ben slowly ran a finger down his nose, then rubbed at his stubbly cheeks, then moved up to his hair. He even traced over his eyelids once, as if trying to remember every detail of him. 

 

“You are my dad,” he said, and Han’s heart broke. Ben dropped his hands, seemingly confused for a moment, and Han sucked in a breath as he waited for the inevitable. The crying, the screaming, the tantru. He deserved it. “I made you fuck me.” 

 

“No,” he said, in a great exhale. “No, no, of course you didn’t make me. I made myself, look.” He took Ben’s hand without thinking about it, then brought it back up to his cheek. The boy’s soft skin against his old, ragged face was soothing. “I love you so much. I messed up. I’m...ashamed of myself. I should have never...but you were so beautiful…” 

 

“You kept calling me that. Beautiful. Do you think that’s true?” 

 

“I’ve thought you were beautiful since the second I first laid eyes on you. But you’re more beautiful now than you’ve ever been.” He sighed. “I lost control. I shouldn’t have. It never should have even crossed my mind.” 

 

“It’s okay.” Ben’s brow furrowed, and he slowly pried his eyes open, his honeyed expression bleeding out, seeming to light up his whole face. Ben wasn’t scared of him. Han could have jumped out of his skin. Ben patted his cheek, then pulled his hand away, then he reached down and touched his thighs, then chest. “Can I have clothes? Do I have to go back now?” 

 

Han jumped into action, going over to rip open his travel case to see if he had anything at all that might fit him. “You’re not going back ever again,” he said firmly. Then, he produced a shirt and a pair of pants, bringing them over. He helped Ben to dress, trying not to think about the fact that he still smelled slightly of sex. The freighter had a warm shower, he thought. He’d get Ben into that and have him cleaned off. The shirt dwarfed his frame, that was much too skinny for Han’s liking. He wanted to get some food into him soon. Real food. 

 

“Thank you,” Ben said, and he stood up so he could step into the pants. Han stood back and let him take care of himself, leaning on the wall as he watched him. He hoped it wasn’t obvious. The pants didn’t really fit around his waist, but Han took off his own belt, looping it through and buckling it in the front. He had to stab a new hold into the leather to get the belt to sit snug against him, but that was okay. 

 

When Han sat down, he was surprised to find Ben crawling onto his lap. But he wrapped an arm around him, kissing the top of his head gently for a moment, then he rested his forehead against his hair. “I love you,” he whispered to him, because he felt like he couldn’t say it enough. “I’m going to take you home to your mother,” he whispered, trying not to think about the depleted fuel tanks in the freighter. They would get as far into the mid-rim as they could, then figure it out from there. As long as they were away from Bidish. Han had no intention of delivering the spice. 

 

“Mommy,” Ben said, a bit of wistful longing in his voice. “Did you say Uncle Chewie was with you?” 

 

“Yeah. I have a freighter in orbit. Bigger than this one. We’ll fly up, then dock there in a few minutes. Whenever you’re ready to go. I have some ration bars you can eat to tide you over until we get somewhere with real food, okay?” 

 

“Okay,” Ben said, agreeable. Then, he slid off Han’s lap and and stood up. He reached down, feeling around until Han figured out what he wanted and gave him his hand. “I want to sit in the cockpit with you,” he told him, and Han’s heart sped up a little bit. Ben should be scrambling to get away from him, not...this. 

 

“Ben, can I ask you something first?” he asked, softly. Ben nodded. “Why aren’t you angry? Scared? I...I violated you just like...they they did. Those men in Bidish’s cantina. I’m no different from them.” He was scared of the answer, but Han needed to know. 

 

Ben seemed to think for awhile, and Han tried not to rush him. The hand in his squeezed a little tighter, and he bent his head and kissed the back of his knuckles without thinking. Ben smiled. “No one has ever made me come before,” he said, and Han blinked in surprise. “No one has ever been gentle before. Told me I’m beautiful. Loved me. Not...not after they took me away. Not until you. I love you, Dad. This was just how you chose to get me to remember you. I think that’s okay.” 

 

Perhaps Ben’s head was messed up, maybe he was traumatized to the point that even Han’s fucked up mistake could be considered kindness. But, he would take it. If it meant his son still loved him. If it meant he could still pull him close into a hug and press their foreheads together. Ben smiled as he did, and Han smiled as well, then brushed his lips over Ben’s soft cheek. “Let’s go,” he told him, then led Ben from the room, smiling indulgently to himself. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If people write this, I might write a sequel from Ben's POV, but only if that's something people are interested in. I'll definitely write more of them in the future, this was just my first idea.


End file.
